Title: don't know yet (have any ideas?)

Characters: Specs mainly, but many of the newsies make appearances,
Bumlets, Dutchy, Snoddy, Skittery, and Racetrack just to name a few.
No new newsies, didn't feel like making any new ones up. Nor did I
feel like putting myself in the story. I will put that off until
later.

Rating: no more than PG. I didnt feel like getting too offensive,
you will know when I do!

Disclaimer: I own Disney...I mean...kidding. (bad joke, I know) I
don't own Newsies, nor any of the characters involved in the
movie...although specs is hiding in my closet, does that count? :) I
don't own Disney, and I certainly don't own anything of value. Don't
sue me, I am not worth your time or money (hurray for high self-
esteem!)

on to the show!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He looked out into the smoke and nothingness that filled the New
York sky. Placing his hand in his pocket, the young newsie took out
a gold pocket watch, glittering in the light of the moon. Upon
opening it, he realized it was well past midnight.

"Fun," he thought to himself sarcastically. In a few hours,
Kloppman, the kind elderly man that ran the lodging house would be
waking them up to go to work. He couldn't see how he would last on
those summer streets for even an hour with the small amount of sleep
he had.

Clicking the watch closed, he noticed his friend and bunk mate above
him stirring. Specs sat there in silence, making sure Bumlets was
asleep before he moved another muscle. Just because he couldn't
sleep, why should he disturb his friends?

Whenever one of them did wake up to see him staring out the window,
they would either pass it off as nothing and go back to sleep, or
ask him what was wrong if they were awake enough to form the words.
Usually his reply was simply, "Nothin'. Just can't sleep is all."

When he knew that Bumlets hadn't been disturbed, he went back to
looking out the window, out into the smoky sky of early industrial
Manhattan. After a while, he decided to slip back in bed, trying to
get a few hours of sleep in before Kloppman woke them up at dawn.

Placing his famous glasses on the table beside him along with his
black derby hat, he lay there, rubbing the etched initials of his
watch sitting in his hand. The letter were slightly faded after
years of use, but you could still plainly see "C.P." on the front.

Closing his eyes, his thumb still rubbing his hands along the
letters of the watch, as he quietly whispered a cherished yet
painful word for him.

"Dad," had barely escaped his mouth before he passed out on the thin
mattress underneath him.